Today on my way to get on a bus tour I accidentally found Keats’* old house:
Here is what the front door looks like.
London is riddled with these blue circular placards. You just have to keep your eyes open.
Once I was successfully on the bus, I viewed many of the stunning sights you’d expect here.
This is not one of them.
Why is that girl giving me the meat sweats stink eye? The world will never know. Along the bus path, we saw both Big Ben
and Little Ben (who lives at Victoria Station among the chaos of construction)
We passed by this stately lion protecting the London Eye in the background.
The live commentary tour guide had loads of information about where famous writers drank (hint: at pubs) and how much it costs to see the state rooms at Buckingham Palace (I forgot). He also explained why the fence around the Queen’s garden has an excessive amount of razor wire: in the not to distance past, a man scaled the wall, broke into the palace, and found the Queen sleeping in her bed. She awakened and chatted with the man, eventually asking if he’d like a cigarette. She called for the footman, who brought security rather than cigarettes back to the Queen’s bedroom. It is said that Prince Charles later visited this intruder in jail to ask where the Queen’s bedroom is.
Stuff like that.
We passed St. Paul’s cathedral, where Mary Poppins sang “Feed the Birds.” Dare you not to have that in your head now.
We drove past loads of pubs, the first Irish pub in London, the smallest pub in London, the pub with the violent name–
I got off the bus at Trafalgar Square, home to more lion sculptures and all the tourists of all time.
That’s Nelson there at the top of the somewhat elongated pedestal. Not to be confused with Wellington, whose statue is at Waterloo. People here at TS ignored every posted rule and generally ran amok. I tried to take in all the fountains and statues and sculptures (though what is the difference between a statue and a sculpture? 5,000 pounds or so?), but the people were just too annoying. Back on the bus to Tower of London, which isn’t a tower so much as a medieval castle complex where indeed Henry VIII sent some wives he was unable to impregnate with male heirs. I had this vision of people having to climb up narrow spiral staircases to the top of a impossibly high and slender spire. But this is what the Tower of London looks like.
This is just a small frame of the whole complex, which, I can’t stress this enough, is gigantic. It’s on my list of things to explore before I go.
I am going to Ireland on Thursday for a long weekend. KB&Co have some things to do this weekend, but I will be back for more Britain.
*Poet. One of my favorites of his is “A Thing of Beauty”
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkn’d ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
‘Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.
I am reading The Night Manager by John le Carré and Cress by Marissa Meyer.
paralyzedbynotcaring 